Under the Wing of A Dragon
by Heden
Summary: .I’ll kill them, God help me I will . They wanted to believe that she was simply making empty threats, that she could never kill anyone no matter what the circumstances, but as she turned from them and stalked out of the room they weren’t so sure. To be
1. Scrambled eggs and Bubble Baths

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing – if I did I wouldn't be writing fan fiction would I? And the title well… you figure it out

**AN:** Alright, I know I don't have a good track record when it comes to updating my stories, but this time I will… I swear! This plot bunny attacked me and is holding me hostage until I finish. I'm not promising how frequent these updates will be because I'm just an insanely busy person… but I shall do my very best to update whenever possible. My first real attempt at anything DM/HG … I'll warn you now that this is going to be a darker story, so if you're looking for something lovely and fluffy I suggest you turn back now … because this isn't it. Anyway, Reviews are greatly appreciated and _constructive_ criticism is always welcome.

**Under the Wing of a Dragon**

It's funny how when everything in life seems to be perfect fate comes along and screws it all up. Hermione Granger was a 24-year-old woman who led a 'charmed' life – in more ways than one. She had the perfect job, the perfect friends, the perfect apartment, and it seemed as though things were only going to get better.

Hermione graduated from Hogwarts as Head girl and with enough job offerings to spread amongst her entire graduating class. She sampled a few different career paths before finally becoming the most revered member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. After a few short weeks in the department she was promoted to head of her own field unit and she couldn't have been more pleased. It was a rewarding job and she was able to use her many talents to help the people involved.

Her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, had gone on to successful careers as Aurors. They wrote each other constantly to catch up and were always sure to see each other at least once a month. Harry had even helped her with the down payment for the beautiful London flat she now called home.

She must have known somewhere deep inside that it was too good to last, that the higher she climbed the farther she had to fall. With Lord Voldemort still at large there were always risks and the papers reported an endless stream of attacks. For the most part, however, the people attacked had simply been faceless names in the paper. Hermione, like most of the wizarding world, had lost a friend or two, but she had expected that, been prepared for it even. What she hadn't been prepared for was for the war to suddenly hit so close to home.

Under any other circumstances it might have been pathetic for a 24-year-old woman to sit huddled on the floor as tears gushed forth from her eyes. She clutched a letter in her hand as she rocked back and forth sobbing so loudly that she was certain the neighbors would hear despite the numerous silencing charms she'd placed upon the apartment. But the noise didn't matter, none of it did. All that mattered in that moment was the letter she was clinging to for dear life. The words were empty and cold providing her with little to no comfort but it was all she had to remind herself that this was real, that it wasn't simply a nightmare she could wake up from.

Through eyes drowning in tears she read the letter over once more hoping against hope that the words might have changed but they were the same. Pointed script plainly spelled out for her that she would not be seeing her parents again.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_It is my unhappy duty to inform you of the passing of your parents, Dennis and Judy Granger. On the evening June 3rd they fell victim to a Death Eater attack at their home in __Cambridge__. I have been assured that their deaths were quick and painless. I do hope that you can find this a small comfort in your time of grief._

_My Deepest sympathies,_

_Matilda Astilbe_

_Ministry of Magic_

_War Department_

It was a short letter that left Hermione with more questions than answers. But for Hermione the pain was still too overwhelming to even think about searching for the missing answers – they could wait until after the funeral.

Funeral. The word brought more tears to her eyes just as she thought she might finally have finished crying. She was quite certain that she wouldn't have a single drop of fluid left in her body if she kept up like this.

She could think of only one way to drown her problems at the moment, but that required standing, and if there was one thing Hermione Granger had no desire to do just then, it was move. Yet the pain consumed her so fully that she could see no other way to numb it, and so she stood from the ground, dropping the parchment on the floor as she stumbled into the kitchen.

Upon reaching her refrigerator she wrenched open the freezer and dug beneath the frozen bags of vegetables until she had found what she was looking for. She set the gallon of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream upon the counter and pulled a spoon from a near by drawer. After setting herself on one of her bar stools and taking a few bites she decided something was missing. She was in pain and ice cream just wasn't going to be enough this time.

After a quick trip to her liquor cabinet she set herself on the stool once more and began eating the ice cream straight out of its container. What did it matter? She fully intended to finish the whole gallon anyway, pain such as this required desperate measures. She alternated her spoon-fulls of ice cream with gulps of scotch straight out of the bottle – Novocain for the soul.

An hour later Hermione was staring at the bottom of an empty gallon of ice cream feeling no happier than she had before. Apparently ice cream wasn't even close to being enough this time. In fact, rather than numbing her pain, she was quite certain she felt even more miserable than she had earlier. She could now add a sick gurgling feeling in the pit of her stomach to her ever-growing list of reasons why she hated the world. Apparently Scotch and Ice cream didn't mix as well as she might have hoped.

Despite the face that she had no desire to move from her perch in the kitchen, Hermione's stomach suggested that a trip to the bathroom might be advisable and she decided it wouldn't be terribly wise of her to refuse. She stumbled across the kitchen and into her living room managing not to knock over too much furniture in the process, and finally reached her bathroom. She made a beeline for the toilet before collapsing on the tile before it and emptying the contents of her stomach into the water bellow. Ice cream and scotch, she decided, were much less pleasant when you were forced to revisit them in reverse.

Somewhere between bouts of retching an inebriated Hermione managed to register the sound of knocking on her bathroom door. She had every intention of telling whomever it was to bugger off because she was in no mood for company. Didn't they understand that she was grieving? Her parents had just died, what unfeeling son-of-a…

Her thoughts were cut off as the door opened a crack and Harry stuck his head inside. Hermione had the decency to feel slightly ashamed of her train of thought but she didn't dwell on it long before the urge to heave came upon her once more.

She felt someone move to hold back her hair and was dimly aware of Ron's voice muttering something along the lines of "Bloody hell Hermione." After what seem like ages she sat back from the toilet and looked up at the pair who had come to visit her.

Ron knelt beside her and this sudden movement almost sent her careening back towards the toilet begging for mercy. She felt his hand rub her arm in what should have been a comforting gesture but instead only served to send her into a fit of tears once more. She collapsed into Ron burying her face in his shirt as she sobbed.

"It's my fault. If it wasn't for me they'd still be alive – they were just muggles!" Her words came out in a pinched voice as she struggled to speak between her sobs. "It's not fair!" She kept repeating the statement over and over again, hoping that somehow it would help.

The last thing she was aware of was Harry's voice somewhere above her saying "I know Hermione, I know. But we'll get the bastards who did it… I promise." And finally sleep took her.

Hermione Awoke the next morning in a less than pleasant state. Her head ached, her stomach gurgled ominously, the back of her throat burned, she had a bitter taste in her mouth, and she was quite certain that if she turned her head too quickly the room would have a hard time catching up.

Warily she threw one leg over the side of her bed, curious as to how she'd made it there, and chanced sitting up. The room shifted threateningly and her head swam for a moment, but she felt otherwise stable so she decided it would be wise to put something into her stomach.

She padded to the kitchen in a daze, her movements were less than graceful but she didn't care. She staggered into the kitchen only half aware of what she was doing and wrenched open the refrigerator door. Scrambled eggs, they were always the best food for hang-overs. Not that she'd had many in her time, but enough to know that eggs were what her stomach wanted after she'd consumed more than her share of alcohol.

Surprisingly enough she broke only one egg in her attempt to juggle three eggs and a carton of milk all at once. So that meant only two eggs, because she certainly wasn't walking back to the fridge for another.

She pulled a skillet from amidst a tower of other pans in one of her cabinets with minimal difficulty. This was fortunate because she wasn't sure her brain could handle the cacophony of sounds she usually created when trying to retrieve the desired pot or pan. Her mother used to joke that Hermione was at war with all cooking paraphernalia, and that it was winning hands down.

She paused a moment in her movements, tears threatening to fall once more. Crying would definitely not help her already uncomfortable state in any way shape or form. She willed herself not to think as she cracked the eggs into the pan, added the milk, and generous amounts of salt and pepper.

Her father had never put enough pepper in her eggs.

Hermione spun quickly and threw the spatula she had just pulled from a drawer with a painful scream. The spatula, however, met resistance before it clattered to the floor.

"Ouch… blimey Hermione, there's no need to get violent. I only stayed because I wanted to be sure you were alright."

Harry bent down to pick up the offending spatula before padding into the kitchen. Hermione noted the quickly growing welt he was rubbing on his forehead and felt slightly guilty for her little outburst.

"Sorry" she half mumbled, glad, for the moment, to have a distraction of some kind. She took the spatula from Harry and cleaned it off before setting it to work cooking her eggs with a flick of her wand. "I didn't realize anyone else was here."

"After the way Ron and I found you last night? There was no way we were leaving you here alone." Noting that she wasn't in the mood to be reminded of why they had come over last night, Harry attempted to lighten the mood, "We played rock, paper, scissor to see who would stay."

"And you lost"

"No actually, I won." He grinned; she glanced up and awarded him with a weak half smile in return. His face sobered quickly at the ill concealed pain in her eyes and he moved to hug her.

The sympathetic way he held her brought it all crashing down on her again; it would almost have been better if he had been indifferent. At least then she could have found a way not to think about it, but his sympathy wouldn't let her focus on the menial task of making eggs. It forced her to think about exactly _why_ she was making those eggs. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again and she knew that if she let them fall she wouldn't be able to stop.

She almost wanted to laugh at the situation; she'd held Harry like this once, right after Sirius had died. Now here she stood, crying to the boy who had lost more than she could ever imagine. It felt wrong somehow.

"This can't be real." It was a quiet statement; Harry almost didn't hear it because she spoke into his t-shirt. He would have known what she'd said though, even if he hadn't heard it, because he knew just how she felt. He hugged her tighter and noticed her shoulders begin to shake slightly as she let herself cry.

"This happens to other people, not to me, not to my family." She knew she sounded selfish, especially because this was Harry, but just then she didn't care.

"I know Hermione, I know. And we'll get the bastards, I swear we will, no matter what it takes." She nodded into his chest as she continued to cry.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that before she heard Harry's voice, almost half afraid to speak and break the silence. "Um, Hermione… I think you're eggs are done."

Reluctantly she pulled away from him to see that her eggs were indeed done, the pan now hovering a good six inches off the stove to prevent them from burning.

Harry set himself at the small counter in the kitchen beside her as she ate, watching her closely. It made her almost uncomfortable; she knew she must look awful from all the crying she'd been doing. She set her fork down when she finished and turned to him, looking more exhausted than he'd ever seen her. He wasn't sure he should ask his next question, but he figured she could hardly get worse at this point.

"So, um, any idea about the funeral?"

Gods, she had a funeral to plan. How on earth could she even begin to throw together something worthy of her parents in such a short amount of time? She shook her head wearily.

"Well you know Ron and I are here to help with whatever we can, all you have to do is ask."

She nodded. She was tired of talking, tired of crying, tired of feeling anything at all. She moved to pick up her plate but Harry stopped her.

"No, I'll do it, you need a bath. I'll just do the dishes and head out. Floo me if you need anything, and don't be surprised if Ron drops by later, he was worried out of his mind about you."

Hermione smiled gratefully at her best friend and went to draw herself a bath. Maybe a bubble bath, she needed to relax.

Her mother had always favored bubble baths…

TBC

A/N: Well, there you have it! I know it starts off somewhat slow, but it will pick up, just be patient with me… we've got a bit of exposition to get through! Anyway… love it? Hate it? Hit that review button and let me know!

Until next time

-Heden


	2. Shattered

**A/N:** If you're looking for a disclaimer its in the first chapter, I won't be doing one in every chapter, so it applies to the whole story. I'm not sure I like the way this chapter turned out, but we shall see. Anyway, on with the story:

**Chapter 2 – Shattered**

The funeral was meant to be a small affair, only a few close friends and relatives. Apparently though, she had more close friends than she thought.

Her mother's sister had come, of course, all the way from Whitby. She stood opposite Hermione clutching her four year old son. It was obvious from the look on the boy's face that he didn't really understand what was going on; Hermione envied him.

Mrs. Weasley stood to Hermione's left crying silently. Hermione wished she would stop, she wasn't sure she could handle any more tears. Harry stood to Hermione's right with a hand upon her shoulder offering her a strength that she couldn't seem to find in herself. Ron stood just on the other side of Harry. His face was set, blank, eyes staring down at the pair of caskets waiting to be lowered into the ground. The rest of the Weasley clan stood all about them; Hermione was shocked that they had all come, even Percy.

Others, many who she hadn't seen in months or even years, had come to show their support as well. Many of her fellow Gryffindors had come; house loyalty seemed to run deep even after graduation. Neville, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender had all come – she knew she hadn't spoken to Parvati or Lavender since graduation, except for casual greetings when they met in public. She was certain that Dean would have come too, had he still been alive. Even looking at her friends she was unable to escape the fact that death had touched them all – the absence of Dean almost screamed more loudly than the two caskets before her. It reminded her that her parents would no longer be able to attend any such functions either.

She tore her attention from the empty space where Dean should have been and looked at her co-workers. Three men and one of the women from her team had come to show their support and, grateful as she was, she hated for them to see her like this. She was certain that she looked nothing like the strong leader she normally showed them.

Despite the numerous friends all about her, Hermione felt her gaze drawn to the group who stood furthest removed from the two caskets. Four of her former professors stood watching the proceedings and Hermione found herself even more shocked by one person's presence in particular than that of Percy. Dumbledore had come, but she'd almost expected that. McGonagall too had graced the mourning party with her presence, but Hermione had always been among McGonagall's favorites, so really that wasn't terribly strange either. Nor was Lupin a surprise, he'd practically become family after third year. They held some strange bond, each thirsty for knowledge and feeling somehow shunned by the world around them. Severus Snape, however, she had certainly not expected to see.

Though both she and Snape were members of the Order of the Phoenix they hadn't really interacted since her graduation from Hogwarts. Even in her school days they had never held a favorable view of each other, let alone done anything that might have been considered courteous or nice for one another. So why now, in her hour of grief, did he choose to arrive in some show of support? She decided her mind was too heavy with grief to give this ample consideration at the moment, yet she let her gaze linger upon the four professors.

There was something about them standing there, they seemed genuinely sad. Not only sympathetic and sorry like most of the rest of the guests, but truly saddened by the passing of her parents, and she loved them for it. Even Snape seemed subdued, and that was probably what shocked her most of all. His face didn't show any emotion, it was as stony as ever, but just for once she saw in his eyes the façade slipping away. It gave him away and she was stunned to see that he too was somehow affected by her parents' passing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she made note of this slip in his icy exterior, there was a chance it may prove a useful tool at a later date.

All too soon Hermione found herself dropping a single rose upon each of the caskets as they lowered into the ground. It seemed terribly surreal, and her mind was having difficulty accepting that the pair of coffins contained her beloved parents. She could feel a distant anger welling inside of her but she pushed it back. Not here, not now. Later, perhaps, when she was alone she would let it out. She could release her anger then, alone in her apartment. She imagined breaking something, imagined the sound of shattering glass upon the hard linoleum floor of her kitchen. A small manic smile crept upon her lips as a singe tear fell from her eyes.

She was dimly aware of Ron moving to stand beside her as he dropped a rose upon each grave as well. She felt the weight of a comforting arm he threw across her shoulders and the reassuring pressure as he drew her closer to him. Briefly she entertained the idea of jumping into the graves after her parents, but she was brought quickly to her senses as Ron pulled away and began leading her from the graves.

The reception afterwards seemed to drag on for hours. Hermione's gaze remained riveted to the photos of her parents that sat upon a table in the front of the room. Other random objects were laid carefully about it, scraps of their lives, each object begging to tell a piece of her parents' story.

She was so focused on her past that she was unaware of the footsteps approaching her from behind. She emerged from her memories as a hand fell upon her shoulder. Hermione turned expecting to see Harry, Ron, or any of the Weasleys. The shock on her face must have been evident when she saw who it was for she briefly saw the corner of his mouth twitch as though he were half tempted to smile.

His hand dropped quickly from her shoulder to his side, satisfied that he now had her attention. She couldn't help but stare at him, eyes wide with wonder, still glistening with unshed tears; she didn't think he'd ever touched her before, not voluntarily. There was something strange about him doing it now.

"Professor Snape?"

"Miss Granger, I would like to offer my condolences."

If possible her eyes widened even more. Snape wasn't supposed to care, and if he did he wasn't supposed to admit it, not to her; it was a constant in her life that she clung to desperately. To see him now, offering her pity, she almost hated him for it. How dare he change now, now when she needed something familiar, something consistent, unchanging?

She registered somewhere that she had been staring at him too long for one of his eyebrows was now arched in silent question. Hermione's tongue seemed to fail her. She nodded slightly and lowered her eyes, willing herself not to cry. Why now did he choose to speak to her, to look at her as though she were something human? She had always presumed she was little more than a nuisance to the temperamental man, so what had possessed him to even come? Whatever gratitude she had felt for the man during the service seemed to have vanished.

This man was a spy for the light, he should have known, he should have been able to stop it. She could feel her temper flaring, and she knew deep down she couldn't really blame Snape, it wasn't really his fault, and she that angered her all the more.

She looked back up at him, thirsty for revenge, half begging him to give her a reason to take her anger out on him. There was a strange look in his eyes she noticed, like he wasn't really looking at her, more like he was looking in a mirror. She'd never seen that look on his face. Really she wasn't sure she'd seen him look any way other than pissed off in her whole life. It was unnerving. And apparently he thought so too for he turned to go.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to ask. She hadn't thought about the words before they came out of her mouth, but some part of her had to know. She didn't even know what she'd do with the information. But she knew that he knew, and that was enough to make her ask.

"Who was it?" Hermione's words hung in the air and Snape stopped. The rest of the guests seemed to disappear into the background. She was so fixated on his reply that she didn't notice Harry and Ron standing not too far off, watching the interaction closely.

Snape turned slowly, hesitantly even, if Snape had ever been hesitant about anything in his life. There was a look on his face that told her he knew where this was going and he wasn't at all pleased about it. "Who was what Miss Granger?"

There it was again, the condescending tone. Hermione wasn't sure he'd meant it to sound that way, she doubted really if he knew how to sound any other way. It wasn't his tone that bothered her though. No, what bothered her was that he knew exactly what she meant and he was avoiding it. How could he even attempt to deny her this small courtesy after what she had been through! He was going to make her say it, to acknowledge it out loud and she was tempted to slap him for it.

"Who killed my parents?" It was a quiet question, but it demanded an answer. Snape looked, for all the world, like he wanted nothing more than to turn around and deny her the information she so badly craved. Something in his eyes, however, told her he wouldn't.

"I don't know exactly who it was, but I know vaguely who was involved." He spoke resignedly in hushed tones that reminded her of oil or silk, she couldn't decide which. Hermione looked at him expectantly, her empty eyes imploring him to continue. He heaved what might have been a sigh had it been anyone else, seemingly resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't getting away without giving her names. "I have no way of knowing who was on the mission, but I know Draco Malfoy and Millicent Bulstrode were involved in the planning."

Hermione felt as though the world had dropped out from beneath her. Her childhood rival had helped hatch a plot to murder her parents. She'd always considered him harmless, annoying, arrogant, selfish, and down right cruel yes, but harmless. She half wished Snape had refused to tell her, or at the very least given her names that she could not so readily put faces to.

Hatred bubbled up inside of Hermione consuming all thoughts of grief. Snape seemed to notice, "Please Miss Granger, don't do anything rash." There was something in his voice that told her he'd wanted to say more, make a dig about her house perhaps? About the Gryffindor tendency to 'act before they think.' She wished he had said it so she would have had an excuse to hit him.

She didn't respond. she stood silently staring at him until he turned and walked away, back towards one of the hushed conversations going on in various corners of the room. Back to eat little finger sandwiches and sip at coffee while others talked of death as though it were little more than the weather.

There was a storm brewing inside Hermione. The glass of wine she held tightly in her hand was shaking, her knuckles turning white around the stem of the glass. Its blood red contents of sloshed slightly from side to side, and it was only when Harry attempted to pry the glass out of her hand that she became aware of the presence of her two best friends.

She looked up at the pair with a manic glint in her eyes that mixed strangely with emptiness. Harry and Ron glanced at each other and Hermione noted the worry on their faces as they turned back to her but she didn't care.

"I'm going to get them. I'm going to make them wish they'd never been born. I'll kill them, God help me I will."

She let the wine glass fall from her hands and shatter on the hard wood floor at her feet, not caring as the red wine splattered her legs and her shoes. The boys said nothing; they stood and stared at Hermione as if they were looking at her for the first time. They wanted to ask who 'they' were. They wanted to believe that she was simply making empty threats, that Hermione could never kill anyone no matter what the circumstances. But as she turned from them and stalked out of the room they weren't so sure.

As Ron watched her go Harry looked down at the pool of red wine at their feet; the wood would be permanently stained if someone didn't clean it up soon.

**A/N:** Well, I realize this is slightly shorter than the first chapter, but I hope I haven't disappointed. As always reviews are greatly appreciated. I know its still kinda slow and boring… but it should pick up soon… like I said. Lots of exposition to get though.

I would like to thank my one amazing reviewer, you made my day, I hope you know that. :gives **Natalie Garner** a cookie: you rock!

Until next time!

-Heden


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